


Who Needs a Five Star Restaurant?

by Heartless_Zombie



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: All these older Tf2 fics have first person for some reason, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Miss Pauling and Scout but they don't appear, One Shot, POV First Person, Sniper is the narrator, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24065374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heartless_Zombie/pseuds/Heartless_Zombie
Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and Sniper's too late to make reservations at a decent restaurant. He'll just have to make do with what little he has.
Relationships: Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	Who Needs a Five Star Restaurant?

“Make yourself at home,” I stated, rubbing the back of my neck anxiously. The dinner plan came out of nowhere, so I had very little time to prepare. Originally, I was going to reserve a table at a nice restaurant in town, but it got booked up by the time I could get there. As a result, I repurposed the inside of my van to look like one of those posh, luxurious restaurants like in movies. 

I taped up posters of the Eiffel Tower and other fancy French stuff. The table was one that I “borrowed” from the dining hall that I draped one of my nicer bedsheets over. There was a folding chair on each side of the table that I just taped a pillow to the seat. Paper plates, red Solo cups, and cheap plastic silverware made to look like metal were set neatly with some McDonald's napkins I folded into swans. At the center, I had some flowers that Miss Pauling threw out in a big glass cup. The tag labeled “From Scout XOXO” was still hanging from one of them, but luckily for me it went unnoticed.

Spy sat across from me, taking in the mess of a romantic dinner. Without his mask, I could see the entirety of his expressions, which was unnerving all on it's own. He had on a sly grin which could have meant a million things.

“Bone Atrophy,” I muttered, serving the food I prepared; French toast, sausage patties, and boiled eggs I dyed light pink. 

“It's ‘bon appetit’,” He corrected me with a snicker. Surprisingly, he enjoyed his meal, eating every last bit on his plate. Spy was so confident and relaxed in the situation that it was unnerving. He’s a merciless critic that will judge you just by the way you breathe. I was waiting for him to say something negative. 

As he finished, he took another look around, “You put some real work into this. I would be lying if I said I am not impressed… It's a bit quiet, though.”

I excused myself from the table to turn on the van radio. I already called in early to request some of Spy's favorite songs. With a crackle, the sound of classical music on violin filled the tiny space. I sat back down, rubbing my neck once again.

“Ah, that's better,” Spy sighed in his bliss, taking another bite of his meal, “You did a good job cooking this. I thought for sure the sausage would be raw.”

I hate the taste of meat when it's fully cooked, but I wouldn't be a good host if I forced him to eat it raw. 

The date went amazingly well for it being the first time. So well in fact that now on anniversaries and holidays we skip the fancy restaurants and high class holiday trips to go to the van for a fine dinner.


End file.
